It all makes for a low-key effort, which sometimes showcases the band’s skill at crafting neat, 21st-century pop, but all too often fails to spark into life.

Hacke and Picciotto narrate with unwholesome relish.

Despite highly effective stabs at afro-jazz (Kingdom Come), highlife (One Life To Live) and salsa (the fiery Agoya), it’s on the spiritual jazz numbers that the band really come into their own.

This is a master craftsman at work, without bells, whistles or any other gimmicks. True country classicism.

The whole thing is delightful, as compelling as the artists celebrated by Flint’s finest

It’s easy to be cynical or apprehensive about “lost” tracks resurfacing years later, but there’s enough A-grade material on Out Among The Stars to make its belated arrival something to celebrate.

The pace rarely drops and, at points, the noise and structure is, indeed, messy, but the whole is punka focused collection with a bloody-minded, if also bloody-nosed, vision throughout.

Goodbye Weekend sees DeMarco take issue with his critics, particularly the way his sometimes bizarre live shows have been reported. On this evidence, his talent should be celebrated. Salad Days, indeed.

Indentations is the pleasing exception. A slowed down, emotionally visceral tune, it demonstrates that Manchester Orchestra have a real breadth in their songwriting.

Back in 1970, this must have sounded like music from the future--over 40 year later, it still does.

Well worth the extended wait.

Atlas sees a further distillation of their sound; where once appealingly fuzzy, guitars now chime with crystalline clarity.

Strangers feels as if it’s trying to fit into a radio-friendly country narrative that’s surely already passed.

Fans of any of the artists involved will be satisfied.

It all gives the sense of a fun, messy but inspired recording session conducted in a fug of weed smoke.

It’s difficult to imagine many better rock albums being released this year; it’s the record Springsteen fans wish he had in him.

It’s not all spot-on pop perfection: Return The Favor feels as if it’s been included just to fill the quota for an emotional, heart-wrenching ballad. However, this is a minor black mark against an album that ticks all the boxes for those who love cleverly constructed, 80s-esque indie with a pop twist.

Packed with motifs and allusions to cinema, it’s also a subtle commentary on the singer’s stratospheric rise to superstardom, lyricist Bernie Taupin retrospectively suggesting disillusionment was a recurring theme.

A peculiar cove, Wareham is also a viciously acute lyricist with a love for tremolo, and has invented what might be described as quiet heavy metal, or rock’n’roll noir.

The overall effect is dizzying--a revolving door of treatments and narrators--but usually hits the spot.

There’s good songwriting in places, but with the artist’s idiosyncrasies effectively airbrushed out by a bloated production, the result is a dull, vapid collection of songs desperate to please.

Perhaps their most impressive, consistent and varied offering to date.

The album’s immediacy is impossible to escape.

Anyone feeling the mildest desire to get on with their day may reach for the volume control and reduce the endless drone to background level – hardly the point of the exercise.

The guitar solos are the album’s single saving grace.

Melodically bewitching throughout, Nadler’s vocals are as nuanced and strong as Dunn’s production.

This is a one-joke album, but the joke is a good one, and more than a few bona fide country fans will be convinced.

From the opening refrain of Whistleblowers, Spectre is an astounding work.